Hurry Back To Me
by Klow7
Summary: The time is 2032, and on this planet something corrupt has happened. The beings many have recognized as 'Tamians', have now become fair hunting game. Nothing strange yet, right? Well, what if you had been told, say, these creatures could bring you back to life? They could quite possibly bring you back from the bony grip of death itself? An AkaKuro fic with a sad ending.


Hello everyone! Just letting you know that this fix has a really sad ending (yes I've already written the ending lol)

Thanks for checking this out and I hope you enjoy!

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"The time is 2032, and on this planet something corrupt has happened." An eye roll.

"The beings many have recognized as 'Tamians', have now become fair hunting game. Nothing strange yet, right? Well, what if you had been told, say, these creatures could bring you back to life? They could quite possibly bring you back from the bony grip of death itself?" A scoff.

"We have been conducting experiments here at TXQY headquarters and we believe that there is-" A long, graceful finger extended itself in a way that would make gentle swans grow green with envy. It pushed the power button on the dusty radio.

"Unlikely." Seijuuro remarked to no one in particular, standing up and straightening his attire. He flattened out the front of his crisp, baby-blue button down, making himself look presentable for work. His cold hand wrapped around the tightly bound handle of his leather briefcase before he took his leave from that god-forsaken empty house he inhabited. Yes, a house, that is all there was to it. Seijuuro could never possibly refer to that empty shell of wood as a home. A home was somewhere you wanted to be, somewhere you could kick back, relax and whisper sweet nothings to your significant other. A home was somewhere you had family, somewhere you felt comfortable, somewhere you made memories-happy ones. The place from which Seijuuro had recently departed was nothing close to a home, absolutely not. So, it was a house. And so Seijuuro had referred to it as one.

There was nothing particularly wrong with the weather, and there was nothing particularly wrong with the universe either, so Seijuuro unsurprisingly had no qualms about the typical, winter day. He walked stoically along the sidewalk, his polished, designer brand, dress shoes making clean clicks against the pavement. Some envied him, while the rest fell in love. He was a man with power to his name, a man with charming good looks, and a man with a polite way of speaking. There was no, "I can _tolerate_ Akashi Seijuuro." No, no, no, a sentence so foolish shouldn't ever part from ones lips. One either announced their burning hate of a million white hot suns for the man or feel head over heels, helplessly and foolishly in love with him. It was kill or be killed when speaking of Seijuuro, and more often then not the fierce redhead was the predator and the other party his prey.

Seijuuro, unlike most people, was a man of hopeless thought. A man who pondered the existence and usage of everything and anything so hard, it was almost as if he were acting like every day would be his last. He wondered if ties metaphorically stood for something, if the sun had once been the earth or currently was for another species, and even if birds couldn't fly what would they do? How would they survive? Would they still have wings, or even feathers? He thought long and gruelingly of stuff many would never think to give the time of day to. He was a citizen of many thoughts and little words. Although, there was one thing that Seijuuro had blatantly banished from ever entering the realm of his thoughts-one thing he couldn't, and supposedly wouldn't _ever,_ be able to stand. That thing was love. Being the head of a company, and in his mid twenties had given him plenty of experiences. He had learned a lot by careful observations and calculations of his own, so much so that some could, and would, refer to him as _absolute. A_ ll throughout his expansive artillery of knowledge he could find endless wisdom on things even scholars and scientists would be left pondering with. It was like a library with many, many, many books, stacked high, one atop the other, on royal, mahogany shelves. But, if one were to crack open the door to that library, tip-toe through the dark, towering rows and rows of multi-colored, eye-catching tomes and find him or herself in the back of that quiet, empty library, they might be surprised. If it must be put into words, in the back of that huge study, covered in a thin film of dust, on the tiniest shelf, one would find a journal, an empty one of course, much unlike its written brothers and sisters, with pale gold writing on its rusty red cover. The lovely, swirled writing would spell out the forbidden word, _love._ And that was why Seijuuro hated it so, the foolish emotion that made you drunkenly oblivious, love. He had no knowledge upon the touchy subject, other than the obvious. Although, the young man didn't plan to obtain any either. He had dismissed it and left its blank pages to rot, because such a silly thing deserved no such place in the library of Akashi Seijuuro.

His pen clicked incessantly at the cherry, lacquered wood of his desk. A window that reached from the ceiling to the floor was something one could fairly brag about to gods, it also sat proudly behind Seijuuro's desk and provided his neat, grayscale office with light. The charcoal carpet lining the floor with it's relaxing hue was exquisitely soft to the touch, and was only covered up in two areas: the couch on the empty wall that was parallel to his desk and his desk itself. Although, where both items normally would have taken up a copious amount space, in the large room they seemed nothing but decorations on a cake. Although Seijuuro's office could be compared to a small, one room apartment, even when filled with two larger objects, it seemed very wide and empty. Lonely, as those who leaned on the social side of life would probably say. Seijuuro stood on the opposing bank of the river to that opinion though. It was quiet and quiet was nice. Very nice indeed.

 _Bang!_ "Akashi-chi~!" The voice of a grown man singsonged, accompanying the loud slam of his innocent, hundred dollar door on the crisp, white wall.

Well, it was _usually_ quiet.

"Ryouta." He acknowledged the man, which was more than some did. He kept writing reports as the flaxen-haired worker sent him a beaming, white toothed smile that could rival the shining stars in the sky themselves. The male proceeded to chatter on about what he had had for breakfast, how he had prepared it and other useless information that Seijuuro could do without, but he knew that was just Ryouta.

Kise Ryouta was Kise Ryouta, and that tidbit was filed under the category 'blatantly obvious' in Seijuuro's library. In puzzlement, one might strike the question "Well, what does that _mean_?" With a monotonous tone, the coral haired businessman would explain to you that it meant exactly what it sounded like. There were much too many ways to describe strange, quirky Kise Ryouta, so the simplest, and most common, was directly by name. Yet, atop his abundant pile of aliases, there was one name that stood above all. It wasn't 'annoying,' nor was it 'pain in the neck,' and it was not 'stunningly handsome,' albeit having been called all three multiple times. No, no, no, this name was far more fitting for the loud, energetic model.

 _BANG!_ The door hit the wall again, this time even harder than the first. The coral head cringed with displeasure at the thought of his precious painted walls chipping. _That paint job was expensive._

"YOU DAMN DOG." A female voice gritted out, in a way positively _no one_ would like to be addressed.

A poorly concealed smirk on Seijuuro's part, and a whimper on the previously dubbed 'dog's' part, was all that happened before the short-haired (and tempered, should one brave the chance to add) ripped across the room in a flurry of curse words.

"A-Aida..-chi…. Ehehe." The flaxen haired adult, squirmed uncomfortably underneath the harsh glare of his enraged manager, all the whilst the coral haired manager watched in contentment. He had been in need of some quality entertainment. This would do.

The flaxen haired adult backed sheepishly out of his chair, putting his hands up in defeat with a nervous laugh. "Aida-chi…" He murmured, peeking open a previously lidded amber hue to glance at his enraged manager.

The coral head could see the visible flinch in the males posture as the tiny brunette woman took on a threatening stance, glaring down furiously at the shivering model. She adopted a cackle that, if Seijuuro were not himself, would give him a lump in his throat. Although, the same fearless principle did not apply to a certain someone, who gave an audible gulp from the corner of the room.

"Fufufu…" The woman's chocolate eyes were over cast with a shadow courtesy of her wispy hazelnut brown bangs. She was a wolf in sheep's clothing, that was for certain. "Just wait until Kasamatsu-san gets word of this." She purred in a voice that one could easily call murderous. "Skipping out on appointments… Tsk, tsk, tsk." The way she clucked her tongue somehow resonated within the looming walls of the office.

The blonde wept tiny, crystalline tears as he was dragged out of the office by his ears, blubbering chopped up words.

"My, Riko, your sadism is showing."

"It takes one to know one, Akashi-San."

Seijuuro smirked as he could distinguish the words 'Kasamatsu-senpai… Kill me… Help me… Save me!' before all of the perky flaxen haired adult's noise had faded off into the clatter of the rest of the building.

What could he say? Dogs needed proper training and Kise Ryouta was a dog indeed.

Although Seijuuro couldn't stand actual pets. Good thing Ryouta wasn't _his_ dog.

"Although..." Seijuuro murmured, lifted his $250 pen up to his cherry pink lips and nibbling on it in puzzlement. "Ryouta never did tell me the reason he came in here..."

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Seijuuro embarked on the journey back from work at precisely 11:00 pm, sharp. He never left any earlier, because, if there were to be any fluctuation in his schedule, it'd would be him working overtime. He would take approximately 573 and a half steps to arrive at the train station, 15 seconds to get to the gates, 2 to swipe his card and exactly 5.325 seconds to board the train. He would always get onto the eighth cart and there would usually be two to three other people there on weekends and seven to eight on weekdays. Most, if not all of them, were workers or students. Hushed whispers would grow silent as he boarded the train, and for that he would not complain, because it was actually rather pleasing. The fact that his presence instilled fear or even admiration into the hearts of others was a very reassuring thing-not that Seijuuro needed reassurance.

The train ride would take fifteen minutes usually, and he would continue the commute to his quiet house for five minutes by foot, which wasn't honestly terrible. And, when he got there, he would open the eccentric, German style door greeting blackness. His housekeeper, Masako Araki, would have already left by the time he arrived, albeit always leaving out a covered dinner for him on the unnecessarily large dining room table. That is on a normal day. On this particular day though, he had arrived back home on his front step to greet a gigantic box. He had not recently ordered anything gigantic, nor box shaped so he was left in befuddlement to stare with suspicious, fiery eyes at the massive package. "Hmm…" He let out a low hum and approached the box with intense curiosity, and, although his stance was menacing, his eyes were lit up like that of a child's on Christmas Eve; minus the innocence and ignorance, of course. Seijuuro extended a finger with molasses-speed caution, his fingernails digging into his palm. Yet, before his finger made contact with the hazel stained cardboard, there was a jolt. Now, don't misunderstand: the jolt did not come from Seijuuro, no, no, no. Akashi Seijuuro didn't jolt. Akashi Seijuuro didn't jump. Akashi Seijuuro was never _scared,_ for God's sake! The jolt came from the box, which was, by now, was wobbling erratically to and fro as if trying to balance itself, scratching against the ground and creating a noise that could only be described as sandpapery. All on its own… Wait, that couldn't possibly be true… _It was a box, after all._ "Peculiar…" Sighed Seijuuro. The coral-headed man proceeded to step forwards until he was but a hair's breadth away from the box and he stopped… And stared. "Not worth my time." And with that, he brushed past the anomaly on his deck and entered his house, leaving strange, inanimate but somehow moving, parcels to themselves so he could spend some time revising his presentation.

 _Time seems to pass quickly when you work…_ Seijuuro glanced at the clock, its hands tirelessly running round and round in endless circles, certainly unaware that it was their domical grave for eternity: it read 12:37 am. He exhaled a small puff of air through his noise and muttered aloud, "Ironic, isn't it? I believe that's not quite how the saying goes… Hmm." Who was he talking too? Not even he could answer that question as he stretched himself further and further on the leather couch. Of course, the redhead didn't get a reply (he _was_ talking to no one) but once, just this once, he wondered what kind of reply he would have received. "It depends on the person replying, doesn't it?"

True, that was an unalienable factor. He pondered the possibilities of what Shintarou would say, or even what sort of grunt Atsushi would manage.

"I can come up with responses for you in over 50 different languages, if you'd like."

Blue met red.

Red met blue.

And, in this moment, both were certain that they had absolutely, positively, never seen the other before. So why did their connection feel so _familiar_? Why did Seijuuro feel _comfortable?_

"Excuse me, I'm going to say this calmly once, and if you do not listen I will not hesitate to injure you severely. I will also not be liable for any damages done to your person." Seijuuro was on his feet faster than a bat would flee from light, his eyes shot daggers at the small man across the room. The small man across the room sitting on _HIS_ bed. The small man across the room, sitting on _his_ bed and having the nerve to smile at him like this was a fucking sleepover and they were getting ready to share which football player they had a crush on. This wasn't a fucking sleepover. This was the home of an important business man, who was skilled in five martial arts (Kung Fu, Karate, Judo, Kendo and Jujutsu, for those curious), was very talented and [literally] perfect at everything he did. Not to mention the fact that it was very earlier in the morning and said business man was one hundred percent sure that he had never seen this blue haired-blue eyed fiend before. "I'll ask you everything once, and if you don't answer me within 20 seconds I will not hesitate to restrain you and call authorities." The coral headed man said in a dead tone, reaching into his suit pants pocket and fingering at a small pair of undeniably sharp scissors. He dare not expose his prized possession. Not yet, anyways.

"I would be delighted to give you a response. It's what I've been conditioned to do. Please, ask me anything you'd like, sir."

If Seijuuro were to narrow his eyes anymore, they wouldn't be open. His lids were pressed as far down as they could go without him being temporarily blinded. This scenario was extremely suspicious and extremely unsettling. "Okay…" The business man growled, "Tell me your name."

"KuTe-0103-T-S-0001-0003." Red met blue for the second time that night.

And blue, once again, met red.

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Please review if you liked this chapter! It keep me inspired to write lol thanks again for reading!


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